Page 39 of Burn for the Devil
When I turned to leave, I heard her mutter, “Fucking weirdo.” I spun back around, taking a single step toward her while she shrunk back.
“I’ll see you later,” I said, and smiled. I doubt the gesture reached my eyes.
Angry over her uncharacteristic outburst, I didn’t bother with the doorknob, needing to release a small measure of the aggression building up within. Her behavior didn’t make any sense seeing as she clearly desired me. Someone must’ve beenbothering her, and it was my job to find out who. Perhaps I would be feeding after all.
I memorized the work Alastair’s wife had translated alone in my library before performing the ritual by candlelight. It was an odd sensation, every time I’d done this, using material objects. Setting my intention and visualizing what I needed, I manipulated the frequencies emitted by the oils and other matter I’d gathered.
When the spiritual doors opened, a cacophony of noise resounded, full of voices other than my own. I was able to listen to other practitioners if I directed my attention to the sounds, or if my focus wavered, I could let myself wander in a moment out of curiosity.
I was used to the ghostly whispers that drifted past me in the ether, begging the gods for favors. I subconsciously flicked them away, allowing my energy to merge with whatever it was that was out there listening far more intently than I ever had. Some of my kind lived for the often-vain requests and they occasionally personally answered them. I’d never bothered with the useless petitions for things that didn’t matter. Humans were morons in that way, not knowing they were the operant power and possessed total control over their own circumstances.
Ceremony completed; I capped the bottle of a potion I’d created that would hide my ventures into the other realms. I told no one, but my first task would be to take Samantha to my home in the Fourth Realm. I would separate her from her body, and she would believe she was dreaming. Shewouldbe dreaming, in a manner of speaking. She’d just be fully awake in the Fourth.
There was so much more I could do to Samantha to make her mine permanently. I’d enchanted the jewelry I gave her, but I didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. All I’d used was a location tracker and some blood. Not much effort was exerted on my part. I didn’t want to force her. She needed to be drawn tome with the same force with which I was drawn to her, with the obsessive desire that tormented me day and night.
The divide between us held me on the brink of madness; I was teetering at the edge. The temptation to steal Samantha away, leave everything behind, and bask in her spirit was overwhelming. But what would she want from a ruined prince? My long-neglected responsibilities, the current instability of my kind, and the possible consequences of imprisoning her again before she realized she loved me as I loved her were pressing issues I could not overlook. If it was the last thing I did, I’d find a way to possess her without accidentally killing her.
I wanted to infect the woman who’d claimed my soul, consume her, lick up her cries of ecstasy and devour her moans of pain. My very being was enflamed with the compulsion to overcome her senses, invade her consciousness; but I refrained. For now.
If it wasn’t for that infernal cursed wine, perhaps the beast within would’ve already succumbed to the call and sadly, she’d never come to realize what I had in store for her.
An image of the young mother I’d entertained recently at a club flashed through my mind. Before I could divert my thoughts, I’d sent a text message to Alastair ordering him to locate the child’s family and set up a trust fund for the infant’s care. He replied with a single word, “Okay,” and then sent another message asking ifIwas “okay.”
Clearly, I wasn’t, and my friend was aware of that fact. I didn’t waste either of our time answering what was obvious. I was well aware of my own instability and torment.
Samantha would approve of my kindness; she went to charity events. Even Kiara had observed some good in me; she’d told me once. I stood up a little straighter. I could do this.
I’d told Samantha she didn’t have a choice in the matter of the two of us, but she did. She was only just ignorant over the fact she’d choose me.
23
Samantha
It didn’t feel like I’d slept that long, but the sunlight pried my eyes open. I must have been dreaming, because I did not recognize my surroundings at all. Horror washed over me as I realized I was in the little cottage of my worst nightmares. I hadn’t slept in this bed before, having held vigil in the living room rocking chair the near entirety of my imprisonment, but I’d know the bed anywhere.
I flung the covers off as soon as I heard footsteps, groaning when I saw I was in the same damn blue dress I’d always had on while here. It was unfathomable I’d be stuck here again, even if it was daytime. The possible ramifications of the timing of my return fled my mind when Ramone pushed the bedroom door open.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said quietly, crossing the room to stand in front of me. My heart stopped at the sight of him.
I didn’t move, my brain scrambling for a reasonable explanation as to why he was here, and why I was here. I’d dismissed all this nonsense as a stress response and been thrustright back in. A single tear rolled down my cheek while I held my breath.
Ramone squatted in front of me, wiping the tear with a finger. He squeezed his hand shut, and then opened it, revealing a small navy-blue gemstone. “All your tears belong to me,” he said, slipping the stone into a pocket.
I glanced up at him, and he appeared softer than I’d remembered, deflated of some of his characteristic aggressive energy. His appearance was a bit less formal as well, dressed down to merely slacks and a button-up shirt and vest—no jacket. I noticed his lack of designer shoes, the usual Italian leather replaced by boots.
Remaining unable to speak, I considered my options. He’d either taken me against my will again—if that had ever actually happened, or I was dreaming. The latter option didn’t account for the clarity of mind that indicated Iwasn’tsleeping. I’d once heard about a curiosity that affected people occasionally, where they were conscious in their dreams. I had to assume that was the safe, rational explanation plaguing me.
Ramone stood up, holding out his hand. “Come with me.”
“I’ve had nightmares about this place,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I dreamed I was trapped and couldn’t leave. Every night for about a year. I don’t know why I’m back here; but it’s day now. That means I’m healing, right?”
He glanced down before dragging his bright green eyes to mine. “I’m certain it does, and I can heal you.”
“Okay,” I said, ignoring the odd claim of healing ability. “Where are we going?”
I’d never done anything like this before, my whole life having been scripted, planned, regimented, and appointed since Zoey’s death. There had been a specific time for everything, even vacations. The second week of June, July, and August everyyear, carved out for excursions to the exact same places, no deviations.
May and December contained physical and dental check-ups, with the same family of doctors that had attended to my family for generations. Even with the family move to the north, the appointed times wouldn’t be missed thanks to my uncle’s private jet. Of course, dates with friends and lunches with Mom or Dad were more loosely translated, but an excursion into the wild was beyond anything that would be tolerated, or generally thought of, for that matter.